


July 1997

by Writer_In_Residence



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Historical Accuracy, Historical Hetalia, Hurt No Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_In_Residence/pseuds/Writer_In_Residence
Summary: Angst USUK Smut one-shot, set during the American Revolution.





	July 1997

**Author's Note:**

> Background music? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahkAGrAude8

It was July 1st, 1776. At midnight when he appeared at his door. Requesting affection, asking for his touch.

And stupidly, he complied.

\- - - 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” he chanted the Englishman’s name over and over. Light kisses brushing against his ears with each thrust he drove into his lover’s body. Enticed by his scent. Enticed by his body. Simple I love you’s repeated continuously; filling the Brit’s heart with a warmth. Something he never knew he could feel, but learnt with his time with the man that he could call his.

“F-fuck, Arthur.” Again, Alfred aimed perfectly in the right spot. Pushing both the blondes further into bliss, the smaller of the two shifting his hands into the others hair; back arched in pleasure. 

“A-Alfred,” he exhaled, lifting up to his face and claimed his lips in an open mouthed kiss. The stress that consumed him melting away with the heat emitted between them. The American took the initiative from here. Let his lover rest his head onto the pillow as his hips surged forward with a faster, harsher pace he knew the nation liked. He could feel it in the way that Arthur clenched around his cock, the way his soft moans grew louder; an octave higher.

He lifted Arthur’s legs over his shoulders, earning a low growl from the blonde as he fully sheathed himself in the new position. Waited for the other blonde to get used to the stretch. But the way the Englishman scrunched up his face in disarray, fighting against relaxation; back off the mattress, hands clenched on the bedsheet— it was hard not to take him right then and there. Nevertheless, he got his confirmation:

“Al, move. Please.” Each word he said was taken with an exhale of breath, making Alfred wary of whether he might have pushed his lover too far.

“Arthur, we can stop here-”

“Just _move_ , Alfred.”

If there was one thing that Alfred was defenceless for; it was when the small island nation was assertive. It turned the blonde on all the more; with the impossibility of getting harder than he already was. Feeling it in the resistance around his thickening cock as it strained Arthur’s hole. As he heard the nation mix his groans with indecencies—something Alfred took as totally absurd to hear from the classy nation¬—and watched as Arthur’s petite body convulsed and shuddered beneath him. 

Reddened cheeks and sweat dripped down his forehead. Wide eyes fixated just on his. His lover’s jade coloured orbs wet with tears that streamed down to his neck. _Tempting_ the American; giving him goose bumps of just how beautiful he was, of how _badly_ he wanted to ravish him. The contrast of dark olive green eyes against crimson skin. _Beautiful_ , he thought, well aware that he had fallen helplessly in love again.

Now driven by an energy instigated with this fresh and intense intimacy he felt, Alfred pulled his length out halfway, harsh, quick and reckless as he slammed it back in. His senses heightened, cock throbbing with anticipation. The American was on a high, muttering the Englishman’s name like a prayer. Savouring his porcelain legs as it clamped the sides of his head as he leaned down, gripped the smaller nation’s hair, and drove himself in harder. 

He felt the mist of his lover’s breath in his ear. Listened as his broken, British-accent infused, breathless sounds brought him _so fucking close_ to his climax. The sound of the wet slick on the smaller nation’s skin being slapped repeatedly with each strike. Echoing _so fucking loudly_ as he rammed himself into the other relentlessly. Just the simple sounds emitted from him drove him close to coming. The sounds of the smaller nation below him moaning his name _so fucking sexily_ into his ears teared away all the sanity left in him to treat this nation nicely. Underneath him with a tear stained face, flushed cheeks and hands scraping at his back, elevating his hips up to meet thrusts. His cravings were mirrored, transparent to how deprived they both were at this moment— how desperate they called for one another.

And it was this moment, this perfect embodiment of his desires below him, Alfred realised how he could not _resist_ loving someone so dazzling. 

 

The Brit was on cloud nine. Scraped at the larger nations back eagerly and dug his fingertips in. Blinded for his need of relief. And _god-fucking-dammit_ , he was so close. Teetering on a knife’s edge with the way the American was lavish in the way he delivered. Showing off his baby blues that shimmered like the sea peering down at him, emphasised against his flushed skin. Sweat stained hair stuck to his forehead and seeped down his temple. He was absolutely _stricking_ —not only in looks, but in the way he pleasured. Grounding his hips ruthlessly in him; hands in his hair, tugging the strands with a force like it was the end of the world. The way this man could take him to bliss was something Arthur was still mesmerised by even after 170 years of being together. 

The younger tilted his head towards the Brit and locked his lips within his. Taking his tongue against his own and fought for control. Arthur folded his tongue around his and savoured everything. The mixed slaver dribbled down from the corners of their mouths, rationality swept away as the thrusts came in faster, pinpointed on Arthur’s prostate. His moans sucked out of him by the dominate nation, who positioned his hands to cup his face and pressed their mouths hopelessly closer. Spit now snowballing in each other’s mouths as the greed grew, and in a moment of haste; the Brit fastened his arms around the younger’s neck, ramming his hips up to match his lover’s.

His stunning, _flawless_ lover. 

“F-fuck Arthur, I'm close.” Alfred breathed and sat back up. Letting Arthur’s legs fall with a thud onto the bed. Both blondes were close to the finish line, enraptured with pleasure and contentment that came with their fervent infatuation. 

“N-hn, _goddammit_ , Alfred.” The American—his absurd strength still lost on the older— lifted the smaller body to his lap, chuckling at the reaction. The feeling going straight to Arthur’s cock; pressed up against his chest, the vibrations transferring. The Brit’s hand remained tucked in his hair, tightly clenched as he groaned into Alfred’s neck; teeth dug in the sweet tasting skin. The American’s cock was deeper inside, pushed all the way to the hilt. The recklessness of Alfred’s thrust never faltering, the pleasure intensifying with large hands gripping the Englishman’s thin waist as leverage for his thrusts. Rigid thumbs pressed against hipbones hard enough to bruise. 

“M-mhm, come on baby.” Blue eyes fixated once again on him, a smirk drawn on thin lips as he adjusted his position, and Arthur felt it immediately. 

“Nn-not there… a-ah-Alfred,” Arthur felt the heat rising in the air, and knew he was about to tip over the edge. Alfred was relentless, muttering admiration and reassurance into his ear. Stirring Arthur’s senses in in overdrive, making everything the boy did ten times more electrifying. Each lunge into him sparked a million nerves that went straight to his cock. Whispers from lips flush against his ear making him that much more desperate. His hands electric as thumbs circled patterns on warm skin, sparks scurrying down his spine at the subtle sensation. Everything was building in the pit of his stomach like a million butterflies waiting for take-off. Arthur cried out with another graze to his prostate. Grinding his hips down for more. Chanting his name in response to his own being called. 

“A-ah-Artie… you… you feel so good, sweetheart.” 

It was moments like this that the Brit realised what it was like to _feel_ something. After centuries of detachment. Centuries of forced solitude. He believed this feeling forgotten—destroyed by betrayal, conflict and pain. A darkness that was shrouded by spite, blanketed by fear. A fear of those feelings resurfacing, being the cause of more permanent scars. Scars that marked his body. Some from nations that he once called his brothers, others… others that were once his allies and bound to him not just in terms of a treaty. His past hidden in the expanse of his life, memories willed to the back of his mind as time continued, his emotions taken with it. Cloaked in darkness. Never to be touched. 

Hitherto, somehow, _someway_ , this American nation illuminated it back into his world. His radiance bright and resilient. Ending the darkness that consumed his. This _new, profound, admirable_ nation that was his, and his alone, who sought out what he sealed deep into his heart; emotions resurfaced. Now existing to love, to cherish and to adore. The negativity defeated. The nation at his aid immediately when the nightmares of his past arose, ending the Englishman’s suffering with a single, soft-spoken kiss to the lips. Dousing his heart in enamour. 

“Arthur, look at me.” Alfred called after him, touched the island nation’s cheek, brushed the hair out of his eyes and met his gaze. But the stubborn nation refused, his head tucked firmly inside the crook of his lover’s neck. Knowing that if he looked at his face, he would melt immediately. But Alfred wouldn’t have it. Releasing Arthur from his hold, his back meeting flush against the bed. The Brit’s widen eyes brought a smirk onto his features. “I warned you.” 

The smile itself was torment. More so than the way he rutted with reckless abandon once again. One hand to his sternum, the other grounded on his hips. Giving no leeway. Burying his whole shaft deep inside his tight hole, hammering in him which a force that had the Englishman clutching the pillow case.

“Ngh… A-Ah-Alfred… s-slowdown.” Drawing in a lungful of air, Arthur exhaled curses. Clenching around Alfred’s girth that pelted into him, the curl of an oncoming orgasm taking form stronger than before. With single words, he encouraged the other nation. Groaning as the American jut his hips up into him, harsh enough to need leverage on the headboard. The Brit called out to the other nation once more, submitting to the assault. The American located his prostate once again, interpreting the island nation’s reaction to continue striking the area. “N-Ngh… wait… Ah-Alfred n-no… I'm close…” 

Alfred held his waist, pressed his cock forwards and rolled his hips. Pressing the head right against his prostate and, without taking out his member entirely, he pounded. The other blonde whipped his head back in ecstasy, crying out as the curl in his stomach was edging even closer to release. Alfred felt it coming as well, grinding himself into Arthur. His once systematic movements shifting into erratic motions to speed up his release. The Brit assisted, levitating his hips so that the American could wildly and effortlessly hit his sweet spot. Hands falling to the mattress on either side of Arthur’s head, muffled moans disturbed by their linked lips and waist bucking down into his lover’s after each roll.

“Ah, Artie, f-fuck… I’m coming...” The nation could only groan in response, attempting to mutter similar words. But in one swift thrust against a bundle of nerves, his composure disappeared. Holding his breath as the butterflies in his stomach escaped. He cried out, as if Alfred’s name were the only words he knew, coming with jagged breaths, muscles still taut. Alfred’s hands were still on his hips, desperate now. He tugged Arthur down roughly on his cock, his prostate grazing the head of his cock—and he saw sparks. The sensation bringing unison moans before Alfred’s innards froze briefly, and he groaned even louder, muttering Arthur’s name again and again; trembling as he came inside his lover’s body. 

Both were panting, physically exerted. Alfred collapsed on top of Arthur, arms yielding. Members softening as Alfred drew out of his lover, looking down as his cum flowed onto the bedspread from his lover’s hole. “Ah shit,” he breathed, face inches from the other. He waited for the complaints but was met with silence, and in the dim lighting as he watched him, Alfred could see the faint smile spread on his lover’s features. His heart skipping a beat. Absolutely in love. 

Beaming, Alfred kissed his lips, “I love you, Artie.” He slipped his mouth to peck his cheek before he rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me.” 

The island nation was utterly drained, his hole still pulsating from the high. The only thing he had the energy for was a smile. Completely and wholeheartedly satisfied. Heart overflowing with affection. “I won’t ever leave you,” he breathed, kissing Alfred’s temple and taking their hands together. The metal of the American’s ring cool between his fingertips. “I love you so much.”

\- - - 

The end of the cigarette casted a faint glow on the window at his inhale. The dewdrops on the windowpane disorienting the colours, altering the view. Making everything look blurred and blotched together. The sounds of pitter-patter showering down on British soil filling the room. Gardens swamped with the constant downpour, pavements littered with numerous puddles, light raindrops pelting down on each rooftop. The petrichor scent absent, locked outside behind a sheet of glass. In its place, within the room, the charred aroma of grass. Its lung-burning odour locked into each molecule in the room. 

Emerald eyes absorbed on the droplets that tapped on tree leaves, eventually giving into the weight and wafting onto the grass below. The susurration of the rain muffled behind intense concentration. And with a scorch of heat, it triggered Arthur back to actuality. Black burns marking the insides of his fingers. The haze clouding his rationality lifted, shifting his focus to the weltered end of the cigarette that withered to the ground. 

_What was I just thinking of?_

The Englishman stumbled away from the piles of ash under his feet. Letting the shrunken cigarette fall to the ground to greet the numerous others; and for the umpteenth time, Arthur hastily pulled out another cigarette from his back pocket. He lit the base of the cigarette, drawing in a breath with the cig in his mouth; exhaling onto the window. Watched as the smoke spread against the glass and faded away. 

There was emptiness, a sort of hollow feelings that was wedged in his chest. Making the nation believe he could _feel_ the vacancy of his emotions. There was no anger left, or sadness. Only memories. His skin crawling with each unexpected recollection. Helplessly succumbing to how they only laughed mockingly with his inability to shut them away. His weakness eating him from the inside out.

Tormented, the nation drove himself into isolation, his only company heartbreak and guilt. Standing by Arthur’s side for centuries. He had forgotten what it felt like to feel something. The forced solitude the Brit concealed himself with was firmly re-established since 1776. July 2nd, when that nation had left him come sunrise.

Forced to reminisce to a time that was so bright and joyful, together with a lover he had wholeheartedly devoted himself to… now he was left with the crushing reminder of his independence from him. Everything inside that he once felt, damaged and shattered to unfixable pieces. He was nothing but an empty exterior. A corpse in line to be buried and forgotten. 

Arthur’s mouth turned dry, parched lips suddenly craving a liquid to soothe his dehydrated throat. His system deprived of nourishments, the empty space solely filled with cigarette fumes. Clouding his reasoning to care for this body he felt trapped in. Pain was his muse, heartbreak his enemy and guilt was his companion.

Arthur closed the curtains abruptly, letting darkness engulf the room. The absence of light prompting him of the weakness his body felt. The blonde sauntered himself to his bed, tossing the half-finished cigarette on the ground on the way. The nation’s eyes stung from the loss of sleep, slipping between the sheets of his bed. Knowing that despite his efforts, sleep would not come. Nevertheless he closed them, unwanted tears forming from the pain beneath his eyelids. The saline teardrops slipping down his cheeks and onto the pillowcase.

Beneath the sheets, the nation held the cold ring tied on a threadbare string around his neck. Tears flowing freely.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated!  
>  
> 
> _Happy Reading!_


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